Immigrant Tales - I

My first memory of landing at the US airport for the very first time with my visa in hand.

As I stood, very tired , very jetlagged, in a very long line of very tired, very jetlagged people, waiting for my turn to clear immgration, I heard a very loud, very irate voice saying "All US citizens , please step to this side and form a line here. This is for your convenience. All the "rest" , please wait where you are"!.

And there it was. Spelt out, loud, clear and very irrtatedly. The separation . Between those who belonged and those who didn't. Between the coveted US citizenship vs the Visa. Between the Americans and the rest of the world. Between those who had earned the privelege of not having to wait in a tiring line and those who had no other choice but to.

And I knew , in that moment, this was just the start. To more lines, more waiting periods. For a driver's licence. For a work visa. For a citizenship interview.

For that feeling of belonging somewhere.

Immigrant tales

Color, not colour. Sidewalk , not pavement. Stroller, not pram. Grade, not class. Street, not road.

I used to shift houses. Now I move.

Neighbors do not come over to borrow a katori of yoghurt. It would be an imposition, not an opportunity to have a conversation.

More Christmas lights. Less Diwali.

Blues, grays, browns as opposed to oranges, lime greens and reds.

Driving on the right, not the left.

Home and " back home".

That feeling of belonging. Yet feeling "in- between".

The journey of an immigrant. I started mine in 1997.

It's been a long one and there's lots to tell.